London is fun sometimes

and what I plan to do for Lent

Dear Friends, I can feel it. Life slipping back into my body, my soul. The reason? Simple. It has been slightly warmer this week. Spring is making its first flirtations. It will not always be cold and grey. I feel a weight lifting.

According to various studies, between one quarter and one half of adults in the UK have a vitamin D deficiency. One of the most shocking things I experienced when I first moved here were the significantly shorter days in the winter. When I lived in Scotland, the Sun would start setting at 3PM and not be fully risen in the morning until 10AM. This in addition to the fact that most British houses are not as well heated (and almost never heated all the time) means that winter in Britain is Very Winter. And you know what? I struggle with it! I like, mentally, to think of a cozy winter: candles lit, constant stews, hot water bottles, jumper on jumper. But this is ultimately a cozy defence against a hostile season. Always winter but never Christmas, it begins to truly feel. And I struggle grimly on.

But this week, I felt for the first time the suspicion that the winter would not always last— Spring is approaching! There is a cherry tree near the station that I take to get to work, exactly like the one I wrote about in You are a Tree:

When I arrived in November, the cherry tree was bare, stripped of its leaves; its branches shot straight up into the sky in shameless, slender nakedness. It struck me as unpromising; how could its delicate limbs possibly with- stand the blustery British winter? But when the first hint of spring came to breathe life into February, defiant little green knots appeared seemingly from one day to the next on the spindly branches. And when March came, and with it more bitter cold and resistance to warmth, a further miracle occurred: blossoms. The whole tree clothed itself in papery petals of a gentle rose white. It was resplendent even as winter persisted in recalcitrance. Would you believe me if I told you that at night it seemed to glow? I have pictures I could show you if you doubt me. This miracle lasted for a month before giving way to the more ordinary apocalypse of tender green leaves in May and the deeper shade of green that is the clothing of summer. As I came to the end of my time in the Tower, the cherry tree modestly began to shed its leaves again, even though they had never con- ceded to turn a proper yellow. When I left, the branches stretched smooth and leafless again into the sky, ready for the inevitable but unbelievable spectacle of its evolutions to begin once more.

I am struck by the fact that I arrived in London in November too. And here I am again watching a tree with desperation and delight. But this week the tree has gone from the suggestion of blossoms to the glow in the dark abundance of them.